


kids

by waveydnp



Series: the feeling still deep down is good [1]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Brief Mention of Vomit, Explicit Sexual Content, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Strangers to Friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 22:05:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15228903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waveydnp/pseuds/waveydnp
Summary: phil falls for a boy for the first time while at university. that boy is jimmy.





	kids

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iihappydaysii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iihappydaysii/gifts).



> happy (super belated, sorry) birthday, ashley <3

They meet at a party. A party Phil hadn’t wanted any part in, a party Phil knew would just be full of idiots drinking too much and trying to hook up. He hadn’t wanted to go, but his housemates had dragged him, insisting he was too weird and antisocial and had to stop spending all his time in his room on the internet. Weird was a word people tended to use all too often when describing Phil.

So he’d allowed himself to get dragged because it didn’t exactly feel great to be called weird, at least not in the way his housemates were implying. In a lot of ways, he liked to be weird. It was what came naturally to him, what he felt set him apart from most of the people around him. He took a kind of pride in his mind not necessarily working the same way other people’s did. But not when it meant being looked at like he was wrong.

He wanted to be weird. He didn’t want to be wrong. He already felt wrong in a lot of ways, but one in particular, one way that strongly overrode all the others. A way he had barely allowed himself to acknowledge yet.

So now he’s stood in the corner of a dark room that smells like weed, listening to bad music played at much too loud a volume and watching his ‘friends’ act like idiots. He’s clutching a triple vodka vimto in his hand knowing he won’t take more than a few sips no matter how much he wishes he could just get sloshed and join everyone else in doing the things that teenagers like him are supposed to enjoy doing.

He spots him immediately, as soon as he enters the room. Maybe it’s because they have similar haircuts, long dark fringes swept across their foreheads. Maybe it’s because he looks almost as lost as Phil feels. 

Or maybe it’s just because he’s gorgeous.

Phil can’t take his eyes off him and it doesn’t feel wrong. It feels as natural as breathing. 

Until that gorgeous boy’s eyes meet his. Then it feels wrong. Then it feels like he’s been caught out doing something dirty and sinful and unnatural. He looks away as quickly as he can but he knows he’s fucked up. There’s no way that boy hadn’t noticed that Phil had been staring at him. He wants to disappear. He wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

He tries to find something for his eyes to focus on, tries not to look like how he feels, which is absolutely bloody terrified. He tips his drink back against his parted lips and lets the poison slide down his throat, burning all the way. Maybe he’s been going about this all wrong. Maybe getting hammered would be a good way to repress the fact that he’s gay as fuck and has no idea how to come to terms with that.

His stomach lurches but he forces himself to hold it down. It’s not just the alcohol. It’s the thoughts. The words. That one word in particular, the one he’s never even allowed himself to think inside his own head.

Not until he’d set eyes on that face.

That face which is— oh god it’s right there next to him, along with the rest of the person who belongs to that face, that pretty pretty face and those pink lips and that slightly crooked jawline and—

“What’re you drinkin’, mate?” the face asks.

“Uh, swill?” Phil croaks, not prepared at all for any of this. 

The face nods. “Looks like it.” He’s got an accent, a different one from Phil’s but definitely not as southern as a lot of people he’s met at uni. Curious since they’re in the heart of the north, but he’s heard more posh accents here in York than he has ones like his own.

Phil knows it’s his turn to say something, but his mind is blank. The face is looking at him and he doesn’t look like he’s about to accuse Phil of anything. He looks kind. His eyes are looking right into Phil’s. He’s close enough that Phil can see their colour, a blue even more intense than his own, light and clear and tinged with green like a tropical sea. 

It’s his turn to talk. He needs to think of something a normal human person might say in conversation to someone they’re just meeting. 

The face beats him to it. “So, you go to York, yeah?” 

Phil nods. “You?” Maybe he can do this. Maybe he can just have some friendly small talk with one of the most beautiful humans he’s ever seen and not let it be a disaster.

The face nods. “History, how ‘bout you?”

“Linguistics.”

“Nice,” the face replies. “I’m Jimmy by the way.” He holds out his hand.

Phil takes it, tries to squeeze it firmly. Tries to shake it like a man. “Phil,” he says.

Jimmy smiles. Fuck it’s a nice smile. A little sideways smirk that makes him look cheeky, like he’s got a secret. “Nice to meet you Phil,” he murmurs.

Phil’s hand is still wrapped around Jimmy’s. He’s been holding it for too long, and yet he can’t bring himself to let go. 

Jimmy doesn’t seem bothered. He’s holding Phil’s right back, still smiling. It’s irresistible, that smile. Infectious. Phil finds himself returning it when he feels Jimmy’s thumb rub gently against the back of his hand.

“Would you maybe wanna go sit somewhere?” Jimmy asks.

Phil’s heart is in his throat, blood pumping so hard he can hear it rushing in his ears. “Yeah,” he says. “Definitely.”

-

“Can I… have your number?” Jimmy asks at the end of the night, when hours have passed and Phil’s housemates are half asleep and insisting it’s time for them to go home. “You know, in case you get bored one day and just wanna… hang.”

“Yeah, I just—” Phil pats at the pockets of his jeans like he doesn’t already know how empty of writing utensils they are. “I don’t have a pen.”

Jimmy chuckles. “Just give me your mobile, you nutter.”

Phil would be embarrassed if Jimmy wasn’t already looking at him like _that._ He fishes his phone out of his pocket and hands it over, watches Jimmy type something in.

“There,” Jimmy says as he hands it back. “I gave you mine instead. You have all the power. Ring me or don’t.” He’s still grinning and… fuck. Fuck. Phil really wants to lean in and kiss him. 

“I hope you do, though,” Jimmy adds, before getting up from the sofa and walking away.

-

Phil’s glad he has a room to himself in this house. He’s glad he can spread his legs open wide and bury a finger in his ass as he tugs at his dick and thinks of Jimmy. 

He comes hard. He’s never fingered himself and he’s never allowed himself to fantasize about a bloke while he wanked and the force of how right it feels is overwhelming as he pumps come all over his t-shirt. 

It’s the best orgasm he’s ever had, even better than that blowjob from that lovely girl a couple years ago. He’s drunk on it as he twists around and grabs his phone off the nightstand. He’s still riding the aftershocks as he types a text and sends it out. His mind is full of Jimmy and there’s no room for shame or doubt at the moment. 

He pulls his wrecked shirt off, uses it to wipe the stray dribbles off his dick and then throws it on the floor. He’s asleep before he has time to see if Jimmy’s up late enough to have replied.

-

The shame and doubt creep in the next morning, when he sees his shirt crumpled up and crusty on the carpet and he feels the slight sting in his asshole from the unceremonious stretching it’d endured at the hand of his desperate and amateur exploration. 

He has a long hot shower and tries to scrub away the irrational feeling of perversion.

He ends up making it worse, remembering the way Jimmy smiled at him and the touch of his hand. He ends up hard as a fucking rock, jerking and stroking and squeezing his cock and shooting another hot thick load of jizz against soap-scummed tiles.

-

His hair is still wet when his phone buzzes in his pocket. He’s just stirring milk into his coffee, stood in the little kitchen he shares with so many people, the kitchen with its ugly linoleum floor and sink full of dirty dishes. A couple of his housemates are sat at the table, moaning about how hungover they are and how much they don’t want to go to class.

Phil pulls his phone out and nearly chokes on his coffee. It’s a text from Jimmy, a reply to the message Phil had sent last night. He wants to know if Phil wants to meet up at the coffee shop near the school after any classes he may have today.

Phil swallows his fear and answers yes, of course. He tries to remind himself that just because he has some sort of crush doesn’t mean Jimmy does. Jimmy just wants a mate. They’d discovered they have quite a bit in common, after all. They got on, they made each other laugh. 

He can keep it together. They can be friends. He could use a mate, too, after all.

-

Jimmy is even more gorgeous in the light of day, his eyes even more brilliant, his laugh somehow even warmer.

He’s funny too. And smart. They sit across from each other drinking coffee and tea and just getting to know each other. It’s easy— too easy, almost. Phil’s never really had a problem making friends but this feels… different. 

They don’t part ways until the sun is low in the sky.

“Shit, it’s late,” Jimmy says. “Sorry I kept you so long. I suppose I should let you go.”

Phil wants to argue. The muscles in his abdomen hurt from laughing and he wants to say that there is quite literally nowhere he’d rather be, but that probably isn’t something one lad says to another if they’re supposed to be friends. 

“Will your girlfriend be wondering where you are?” Jimmy asks, and Phil notices that he’s not making eye contact anymore.

“Oh, uh. Nope,” Phil mumbles. “No… no girlfriend. I’m a… free agent.” And a moron. Also an awkward, socially inept moron. 

Jimmy just laughs. “Yeah, same.”

That probably shouldn’t make Phil as happy as it does. 

-

They’re friends. They settle into a routine of getting coffee and texting back and forth and sending each other links to their favourite YouTube videos. Turns out they both have a tendency to film themselves talking about nothing and posting it to the internet.

They’re friends, and it’s great. Phil feels like himself when Jimmy is around. He doesn’t have to try to be less weird, because Jimmy is weird in his own ways too. Not exactly in the same ways as Phil, but in ways that other people aren’t, ways that seem to draw the two of them together. It’s nice. 

Jimmy never stops being gorgeous. Phil never stops picturing him naked when he wanks. 

It’s never quite comfortable. There’s always something unspoken simmering just beneath the surface. Jimmy smiles at him unlike any other boy ever has. It feels different, but Phil convinces himself he’s just never had a friend who understood him like that, not even Ian or Anja or Martyn. 

It’s not that Jimmy has the same kind of thoughts about Phil that Phil has about him, surely. He’s just a friendly bloke. He’s just very very friendly and doesn’t think twice about lingering hugs when they’re saying goodbye or sending Phil texts that say ‘you looked really nice today.’

If it feels like something more than friendship, surely that’s all in Phil’s mind. Surely that’s just wishful thinking.

-

“I’m bored,” Phil whinges into his phone, laid out on the blue and green sheets of his shitty little mattress. 

“Me too,” Jimmy replies. His voice is a little huskier over the phone and Phil’s having a hard time not taking keen note of that today. 

Phil’s not actually particularly bored. It’s late in the afternoon and he’d been in class most of the day. He’s a little tired, but there are plenty of things he could do, people just outside his bedroom door he could hang out with or schoolwork he should get started on. 

He’s not bored, he’s fishing. He wants to see Jimmy but even now he still doesn’t quite know how to say that without feeling… awkward. A little predatory, even. The attraction is always there, and it burns guilty in his gut knowing Jimmy almost certainly just wants a friend. 

Phil always puts the onus on Jimmy to decide when he wants to to hang out. But today he can’t help fishing for it, because… he just really wants to see Jimmy. 

“Should we do something?” Jimmy asks. Bless him.

“Yeah.” Phil smiles, doing a happy little wiggle against his duvet. “We should.”

“I’m lazy,” Jimmy says. “Can you just come over to mine? I don’t feel like getting up and putting on trousers and all that shit.”

Phil’s heart rate spikes, his mind suddenly overcome with that image, of Jimmy in nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of pants. “Oh,” he says, hoping he doesn’t sound as nervous as he is. “Yeah, sure.” They haven’t spent time at each other’s places yet. 

It feels like a step. “Just tell me how to get there.”

-

He’s not wearing just his pants. He’s wearing a York hoodie and a pair of trackies. They’re rather fitted and made from a thin material and Phil has to actively hold his head up to keep his eyes from lingering where they’d like to. 

For god’s sake, Phil’s interest in the shape of Jimmy’s soft dick through his trousers isn’t even based on anything practical, so why is it all he can think about as he hands Jimmy the tea he’d picked up on the way over? He doesn’t know why that images turns him on so quickly and so forcefully, but it does, and the guilt is back in full force.

Jimmy doesn’t live in a house with ten other people like Phil does. He lives in halls as he’s a first year with no money for a real place, which means all he has is a tiny bed and a desk and not much room for anything else. It would have made more sense for them to hang out at Phil’s place, honestly. At least he has a room with a sofa that can pass for a lounge.

“You’re wearing trousers,” Phil says. He could kick himself. 

Jimmy quirks an eyebrow as he accepts the warm cup Phil holds out for him. “Disappointed?”

Phil can’t answer that. He doesn’t think he can bring himself to say no, even as a joke. “What d’you wanna do?” he asks, averting his eyes from Jimmy’s face and flopping down onto his bed.

Jimmy shrugs. “We could watch a film?” He gestures his head in the direction of the small television that sits on his desk. 

Phil nods. It’s one of the things they’d bonded over, their love of all things cinematic. 

“What shall we watch, then?” Jimmy asks.

Phil couldn’t care less, but he goes with something a little more diplomatic. “Surprise me.”

-

Their knees are touching. Their shoulders too. Jimmy’s bed is tiny and there’s nowhere else to sit and Phil hadn’t tried that hard to ensure there was space between them and Jimmy hadn’t either.

Phil’s eyes are technically watching the movie but his brain is processing exactly zero percent of it because it’s thinking about the fact that their knees are touching. And their shoulders.

Jimmy laughs. His shoulders shake with it, and that makes Phil’s shoulder shake a little. He looks at Jimmy out of the corner of his eye and his heart flips. He’s so cute when he laughs. He’s always cute, really, but when he laughs his eyes crinkle up and it’s something beyond cute. Adorable, perhaps.

Jimmy turns his head and catches Phil looking. Fuck. There’s no way to play this one cool. It’s even worse than the staring at the party.

Jimmy tosses his fringe out of his eyes. His cheeks are pink from the laughing and he’s looking at Phil now. His smile is fading but he’s not turning away, in fact he’s looking at Phil intently and their shoulders are pressed together so tightly even though there’s technically enough space for them to shuffle apart. 

Phil’s not breathing. He’s looking into Jimmy’s eyes, trying desperately not to look at his lips. 

Jimmy looks away and Phil feels the tension break. It’s palpable, like paper ripping. His breath returns and with it a painful pounding of his heart like everything in his body had temporarily just— stopped. 

“I’m gonna go get a drink, you want anything?” Jimmy says, scootching off the edge of the mattress.

“Sure.” His voice is a deep rasp. He clears his throat and adds, “Thanks.” He shuffles to the side a little once Jimmy’s left the room, suddenly terrified that Jimmy knows everything in Phil’s mind, all the dirty thoughts and the pining looks. He’s terrified that Jimmy has been made uncomfortable and is just too polite to say anything about it. 

Jimmy returns a couple minutes later with two beers and hands one to Phil.

“Oh. I didn’t know you meant— like a drink, drink,” Phil says awkwardly. He kind of hates beer, but he’s not about to say anything. He’d been expecting Ribena or something like that.

Jimmy chuckles, climbing back up onto the bed. Right next to Phil, possibly even closer than before. “That alright?”

“Course. Cheers.” He holds the bottle out and Jimmy clinks his against it.

-

Phil is drunk. He doesn’t realize it until it’s too late, until he’s three and half beers in and the tips of his fingers are a tingly sort of numb and he has the urge to bite them. Should he be tipsy after three and a half beers? He doesn’t drink enough to know. And come to think of it, that’s probably why he’s drunk.

By now the film has ended. Neither of them has really noticed, and if they have they haven’t cared. They’re just drinking their beers and chatting and laughing. On Jimmy’s bed.

Jimmy flops down onto his back, his head hitting the pillow and his feet settling themselves right into Phil’s lap. Maybe he’s a little drunk too.

“I think I drank too much,” Jimmy says, grinning widely. 

“Same.”

“It’s late isn’t it?”

Phil digs his phone out of his pocket. “Kind of, not really. But kind of. Should I bugger off?”

“You could stay. If you want. We could watch another film. Or maybe film a video?”

Phil is trying very hard to keep his cool, but his inhibitions are drastically lowered and Jimmy’s feet are centimetres away from his dick and he can still see the shape of Jimmy’s dick through those fucking trackies and his hoodie is rucked up enough that Phil can see the hair on the lower part of his stomach, hair that leads down beneath the white band of elastic that sits low on his hips and—

He’s staring. He’s staring at Jimmy’s stomach and the outline of his dick and that’s not ok. He can’t do that. For a lot of reasons, but mostly because they’re friends and friends don’t stare at each other’s dicks. 

And also because it’s giving him the beginnings of a boner and that’s also not something friends get for each other. 

But he’s also drunk and loose and happy so he puts his hand on Jimmy’s shin without really thinking about. 

“Do you want me to stay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Jimmy replies without hesitation. 

“Then I will.”

-

They don’t film a video. They’re too drunk and giggly to figure out how to get the camera set up or what they’d shoot even if they could, so Jimmy puts on another movie and they half watch half bant, nursing the dregs of their fourth beers in the darkness.

It’s dark now because the sun set long ago and and now it’s not kind of late it’s properly late and Phil’s eyelids are heavy from booze and waking up early for class and Jimmy’s bed is soft and his feet are warm in Phil’s lap. 

His back is starting to cramp though. He’s been leaned against the wall for too long. Jimmy looks so cozy with his head nestled against his pillow. Phil thinks there’s probably enough room between Jimmy and the wall for himself to squeeze in and lie down.

He wouldn’t consider it if he wasn’t half sloshed and half asleep, but he is so he pushes Jimmy’s feet off his lap gently and asks, “Room for one more over there?”

“Room for one more,” Jimmy murmurs, shuffling a little closer to the edge of the mattress.

“Don’t fall off,” Phil cautions, crawling over and laying down on his side with his back pressed up against the wall. 

“Trying to make room.”

“You don’t have to make that much room. I won’t bite.”

“You sure?” Jimmy is nearly whispering at this point.

Phil nods. “C’mere, Hill.” He pats the empty space between them. “No falling off the bed allowed.”

The film comes to end then. Of course it does. Right when Phil is about to get Jimmy all pressed up against him.

“Guess I should be off, then,” he mutters, bracing himself to sit up.

Jimmy’s hand presses against his chest. “It’s too late for you to go out alone. Stay.”

Phil’s heart pounds right under Jimmy’s hand. “Like, the night?”

“Yes, idiot,” Jimmy chuckles. “Like the night.”

“In… in your bed?”

“I mean, you don’t have t—”

“No. I mean, yeah. Yes. Thanks. That’s good— that’s fine. Thanks. I’m knackered.”

Jimmy smiles. “Me too.”

Phil watches him sit up and pull his hoodie up over his head. He watches the thin white t-shirt underneath get pulled up too, so far up that he can see Jimmy’s nipples. He’s not conscious of making the decision to bite his lip but it happens, and it’s still happening when Jimmy tosses the hoodie onto the floor and looks back at Phil.

“You alright?”

Phil just nods, praying to every bloody deity he can remember that Jimmy’s eyes don’t wander downward. Lip biting is bad enough, a semi is definitely crossing all the lines. 

“D’you mind if I take my trousers off?” Jimmy asks.

Maybe Jimmy is actually just a demon sent from hell to torture him. Maybe that’s what’s happening here. 

“No,” Phil croaks. “Course not.”

“You can take yours off too,” Jimmy says. “If you want.”

“K.” He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s meant to do that without revealing how inappropriately turned on he is at this point, but he’s spared from having to think about it for a few seconds while he watches Jimmy hook his thumbs under the waist of his trackies, lifting his hips up off the bed and pulling the trousers down his legs. 

“C’mon Lester,” Jimmy murmurs, chucking them onto the floor. “Get nakey please. I’m well sleepy.” He’s lying there in a thin shirt and his pants, and his legs are long and bare and he’s looking at Phil like he can’t wait to watch him get himself into a similar state of undress.

“Turn around,” Phil says. There’s nothing else for it. He can’t let Jimmy see how hard his dick is, he just can’t. 

Jimmy chuckles breathily. “You serious?” 

Phil nods. Jimmy smiles, shrugs, turns over onto his side so his back is to Phil, who unbuckles his belt, unzips his jeans and tucks his cock up into the elastic of his boxers.

Jimmy turns around in time to watch Phil struggling to pull his jeans off his ankles. He laughs. “Your jeans are too tight, mate.”

Phil huffs. “You’re not supposed to be watching.”

“I’m drunk, Phil. Don’t exactly have the willpower not to watch that.”

Phil’s stomach drops down into his ass. What the fuck? What the fuck does that mean? Had he heard it right?

He’s paralyzed, his jeans still stuck at the bottom of his legs. He can’t remember how to send messages to his brain, can’t recall the list of mental and physical steps necessary to move the muscles in his hands to grip the denim and pull.

“Need help there, babes?” Jimmy teases.

Phil can do nothing but nod his head. He’s terrified down to his core but if Jimmy is offering to help him get his clothes off… there’s no way he’s going to say no to that. 

Jimmy sits up and crawls to the end of the bed, digs his knees into the mattress on either side of Phil’s feet and takes hold of his jeans. Phil’s doing that thing again where he forgets to pull air into his lungs as he watches his dream guy pulling his fucking trousers off for him.

“There we are,” Jimmy says, looking pleased with himself as Phil’s legs are finally freed. “That’s better.”

“Thanks,” Phil croaks.

Jimmy settles himself in beside Phil, lies on his side with his hands tucked under his cheek and looks at Phil from across the pillows. Their knees press together, bare skin and sharp bone and Phil’s head is swimming.

“I’m sorry there isn’t more room,” Jimmy says.

For one brief moment, Phil lets himself take the risk of being honest. “I’m not.”

Jimmy smiles. “Yeah, I’m not either. Is it— is it weird if we, like… cuddle?”

Phil shakes his head against the pillow.

“You wanna be big or little?”

Phil frowns.

“Spoon,” Jimmy clarifies. 

“Oh. Uhh… small.” He can’t put himself in the position of pressing his groin against Jimmy’s body. Not right now. He’s not _that_ brave.

“Turn around,” Jimmy whispers.

-

Phil has a hangover. He knows it the moment he wakes up, feels the blood pounding against the inside of his skull, his stomach churning with acid and hot bile. He needs a shower and a coffee and some toast or something. Maybe some air. 

But then he remembers where he is and what that weight on his waist is and why his pillow doesn’t smell like his own and— and there’s something. Something… solid.

Something hard. Pressing against his lower back. Could it be—

Jimmy shifts, clearly still asleep, tightening his grip around Phil’s middle, pulling him back a little to press together more firmly.

It is. It could be and it definitely is. Jimmy is hard and his morning wood is pressing into the top of Phil’s ass. The only thing separating Phil’s skin from Jimmy’s cock is Jimmy’s underwear.

Then it gets worse, and better. So much better, as Jimmy’s hips push forward, seeking something even in unconsciousness. 

Phil can’t believe this is actually real, but it is. Jimmy is really grinding his cock against Phil’s body. He’s really gripping around Phil’s waist and holding him tight to his body for better leverage.

And Phil is letting it happen. Phil hopes it never stops. 

But then Jimmy moans. He moans and his body goes still and Phil knows he’s woken up. He’s still clutching onto Phil but he’s stopped moving and Phil can tell he’s holding his breath so he decides to be kind and pretend he hadn’t felt any of it. He forces his own breaths in and out, slow and measured like he’s been asleep all along.

“Phil?”

Phil doesn’t respond with words but a tiny little shift of his body to mimic waking up slowly after a good night’s rest. His own cock is hard against his hip and his heart is pounding but he can do this. He can be cool. 

None of this means anything after all. Jimmy had been asleep. He would've humped anything that gave his dick some relief.

“Phil,” Jimmy says, louder this time. 

Phil shifts a little more, grunts his awareness of hearing Jimmy’s voice into his pillow. He thinks he sounds pretty damn convincing.

Jimmy pulls his arm away then and shuffles back until their bodies are fully extricated from each other’s space. “Hey Phil?”

“What?” Phil croaks, the huskiness not an act.

“Are you awake?”

Phil laughs sleepily. “I am now.”

“But you weren’t before?” Jimmy asks, sitting up.

Phil rolls over after making sure he’s tucked into the waist of his boxers. “Before what?”

Jimmy is too cute in the morning. It shouldn’t be allowed. He looks younger than he is, his long hair sticking up in every direction and falling into his eyes. “I dunno. Sorry. I—” 

He’s panicking, clearly. Phil wishes he could say something, tell him it’s ok, it’s more than ok. But he can’t.

“Gonna go brush my teeth,” Jimmy mumbles, reaching down onto the floor for his trackies and yanking them on. “I’ve got class in like a half hour so…”

“Oh,” Phil says, stomach dropping. Jimmy wants him gone. “Right, yeah. I— same, yeah. Sorry. I’ll clear out.”

Jimmy just nods, pushing his hair out of his face almost angrily. “See you later.”

-

Phil throws up on the walk home, into some nice unassuming bushes. He crawls into bed once he’s home, no shower, no coffee, no breakfast. Doesn’t even brush his teeth, just pulls off his jeans and sinks into his sheets and wonders if he’ll ever see Jimmy again. He wonders what it all means, who he is, how he’ll be able to get through a whole lifetime of feeling this much shame and doubt and guilt. 

He dreams of Jimmy and wakes up hard. He wanks one out spitefully, two fingers shoved up into his ass this time. He jabs his fingers into something that takes his breath away, then keeps rubbing over it harshly until his orgasm hits so hard it hurts his stomach.

Fuck Jimmy, Phil thinks. If he wants to get weird and distant over something that wasn’t even Phil’s fault then he can--

His phone starts ringing then, interrupting his angry thoughts. He checks it-- it’s Jimmy. He strongly considers ignoring it. He still feels like shit and like he might burst into tears at any minute, but the curiosity becomes too much after the third ring. 

“Hello?” He tries to sound as unfriendly as he can. It feels wrong and unnatural but he wants to lash out, he really does. 

“Phil?”

“What?”

“Are you-- is everything alright?” 

Phil’s resolve is already starting to crack. Jimmy sounds genuinely taken aback by Phil’s tone and even though that’s exactly what Phil had wanted, now that he has it he wants to take it back. “What’s up, Jim.”

“I just-- sorry. I didn’t mean to bother you, just wanted to say sorry I was… weird. This morning.”

“Right.”

“I drank too much last night,” Jimmy says. “I felt really ill when I woke up. Sorry if I came across--”

“It’s fine. I felt ill too,” Phil interrupts. He doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to hear Jimmy’s excuses. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s no worries, mate. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Oh. Ok… Phil?” Jimmy’s voice is quiet and small.

“What?”

“You’re not like, cross, are you?”

“Why would I be?” His words are sharp, and in that moment he thinks they both know. They both understand what’s really going on.

Jimmy is quiet a long time before he speaks again. “You weren’t asleep, were you?” he murmurs.

“I have to go,” Phil says, and hangs up.

-

They don’t talk for three days. Or, more accurately, Phil doesn’t respond to Jimmy’s texts for three days. It starts out as anger and turns into a sad kind of resignation. He’s falling for his best friend. Or maybe he’s already fallen. Either way he thinks maybe it’s better if he gives Jimmy a clean break.

On the fourth day Phil is still in bed at half noon, half asleep and trying to find the will to get up. But it’s Saturday and he has nowhere to be, so in bed he remains, too apathetic about everything in his life to even get up and scrounge himself some coffee. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door. No doubt it’s one of his housemates asking why he’s left his dishes unwashed or telling him it’s his turn to go to the shops for milk and toilet paper.

“What?” he barks.

“Are you decent?”

His stomach drops. It’s Jimmy.

“Actually it doesn’t matter, I’m coming in regardless.”

Phil sits up as Jimmy opens the door, pulling his duvet up to cover his bare chest. If Jimmy’s bothered by Phil’s state of undress, he doesn’t let it show in the slightest. He sits on the edge of Phil’s bed and hands him a Starbucks cup.

“I splashed out for the good shit.”

“Thanks,” Phil says, bewildered still. 

“It’s a peace offering.”

Phil doesn’t know what to say, so he says nothing and instead takes a sip from the cup. It’s warm and sweet with a strong bite of coffee at the end and he has to admit, as far as peace offerings go, it’s a damn good one. 

“You’ve been ignoring me,” Jimmy says

“Does that upset you?” Maybe he wants to hear Jimmy say he’s been missing him. Maybe he’s reached that level of pettiness. 

“Of course it does you dumb fucking idiot.”

Phil can’t help giggling. “Sorry.”

“Can we hang out today?”

Phil leans back a little against his headboard. “Doesn’t look like I’ve got much choice now, does it?”

-

They both agree they want to be lazy and stay in. They’ve got a perfectly good house here with a perfectly… decent sofa and a perfectly… well there’s a television. It’s not really perfectly anything but it’s functional, at least. 

The house is curiously empty, or quiet anyway. His housemates are either out having social lives or holed up in their rooms or some combination thereof. There certainly isn’t anyone in the lounge.

Phil puts the first disk of the first season of Buffy into the DVD player. Jimmy had told him to pick something he really liked and he can never resist the opportunity to torture people with his love for this objectively kind of silly show. 

“Interesting choice,” Jimmy chuckles as the theme song starts.

“Shut up. You got to pick last time,” Phil says, sinking into his seat on the other end of the sofa. He makes sure to leave a good amount of distance between them. 

“Not complaining,” Jimmy says. “Not about the show, anyway.”

“Well what then?”

He pats the space next to him. “I don’t bite either,” he says echoing Phil’s words from the other night.

Phil frowns. This is all too much for him, this back and forth, this never knowing where he stands or what page they’re on or if they’re even reading the same book.

But Jimmy had said ‘you weren’t asleep, were you?’ He knows there’s something here, whether it’s one-sided or not, he knows this isn’t just two guys hanging out as friends. He knows that and he’s still looking at Phil with a cheeky smile, asking him to move closer.

“Just c’mere Phil. Please. I’ve been missing you.” He shifts a little closer himself. “I’ve been thinking about you.”

Phil knows in this moment he’s completely and utterly fucked. Jimmy’s got him and he’ll do whatever he wants. He moves over until they’re sat next to each other.

They’re not touching. A space remains between them, full of lingering questions and uncertainty. Phil keeps his eyes on the screen and his hands in his lap. He’s still wearing his pj bottoms and nothing underneath them, a fact he’d forgotten until just now.

Jimmy’s barely dressed any nicer, just a pair of sweats and a black t-shirt. He shifts a little, moves a little closer so their thighs are touching. Phil’s not sure if it was intentional or not. He pretends it doesn’t send a nervous thrill shooting up his arm.

It feels intentional. More and more so as the minutes pass. As the first episode plays over into the second Jimmy moves a little closer. Now they’re pressed together all the way from shoulders to feet. 

There’s no way that could be an accident. The sofa is small, but it’s not that small. The air is full of tension so thick Phil could choke on it. 

Jimmy’s hand twitches. Phil sees it out of the corner of his eye and turns his head infinitesimally to watch him brush his fingers against Phil’s thigh. It is definitely, without a doubt, absolutely intentional. His pjs are so thin he can feel the warmth of Jimmy’s fingers.

He doesn’t know how many minutes pass before Jimmy’s hand moves again. It could’ve been thirty seconds for all he knows but it feels like an eternity with Phil’s every cell clenched in anticipation. However long it’s been it doesn’t matter because his hand moves to flatten itself ever so lightly on Phil’s thigh.

Up until this moment Phil could have convinced himself that it was all in his head. Not now. Now he knows for sure that Jimmy is feeling some semblance of what he’s been feeling all along, ever since their eyes locked at a party that neither one of them had been particularly keen to attend. 

He feels relief and arousal crash over him in equal measure, and in there somewhere as well a swirl of bravery. Jimmy’s hand is on his thigh and he can’t fucking believe it but it’s moving, slowly sliding its way from the top closer to the inside. Phil responds by spreading his legs apart a little wider, some tiny lingering corner of his brain making space to expect Jimmy to snatch his hand away.

He doesn’t. He keeps sliding it until it’s nestled in between Phil’s legs and his arm is pushing against Phil’s cock. His incredibly hard, aching cock. He stills, apparently content for now to leave it there and stare unceasingly forward, as if looking at each other would break the wonderful wordless spell they’ve managed to cast between them. 

As the seconds pass Phil gets braver. He doesn’t know if this moment will lead to more or if it’s something stolen they’ll never have again, but he knows if he doesn’t take advantage of it he’ll regret it forever, so he lifts his own hand from where it rests between his and Jimmy’s legs and brings it down to cup Jimmy’s thigh in a mirror of how Jimmy is touching him. 

His arm presses lightly against Jimmy’s groin and he can feel a hardness there to match his own.

He doesn’t have time to do any more thinking, any more marveling at the fact that he seems to be getting the only thing he’s ever really wanted, because Jimmy is moving his hand up and— and fuck. He’s wrapping his fingers around the shape of Phil’s cock, the only thing separating them a threadbare layer of cotton fabric. 

Jimmy squeezes. Phil drops his head back and bites harshly into his lip. It feels so good already that his head spins. 

Jimmy rubs his palm against the shaft. Phil pushes his hips forward a little to meet it. He can’t help himself. His skin is on fire. 

Phil can’t form a single thought in his mushed up brain, but when he feels Jimmy push his own hips into Phil’s arm, he reacts instinctually, his own hand seeking to touch what he’s been fantasizing about every night, what he’s been wanking just to the thought of.

He’s never touched another person’s dick before, but he’s touched his own enough to feel like he knows what to do when his hand gropes Jimmy from outside his sweatpants. Jimmy sucks in a sharp breath like he’s surprised when Phil’s fingers squeeze around the ridge of his head. 

Neither of them say a word, sitting there on the shitty sofa Phil shares with a whole houseful of people. They don’t look at each other or talk or even moan as they sit together with their arms crossed over each other.

Jimmy doesn’t ask permission to slide his hand beneath Phil’s pyjamas, and he doesn’t need to do. Phil’s glad he doesn’t. He’s never felt anything like the electric thrum in his veins when skin meets skin and Jimmy’s hand wraps around him properly, fingertips brushing against his balls. 

The pleasure is somehow increased tenfold when Phil does the same, sinking his hand inside Jimmy’s sweatpants and grasping Jimmy’s cock in his fist. It’s warm and just so, so hard. Hard and leaking a little at the tip where Phil swipes his thumb across. Jimmy makes a little noise at that, a sexy little grunt and squeezes harder around Phil and Phil’s stomach is already a tight knot of white hot desire. 

He’s so turned on that he doesn’t even have the capacity to be nervous about his lack of prowess. Probably he doesn’t need to be nervous because neither of them are exactly experts here. Neither of them are yet twenty, neither with much experience at all beyond exploring their own bodies. Really they’re just two blokes too afraid to speak aloud what they want, sat on a sofa red-faced with sex and playing with each other’s cocks.

Jimmy is touching Phil’s cock. The thought keeps screaming itself at him. Jimmy is touching his cock. And he’s touching Jimmy’s cock, and it feels even better than he’d fantasized it would. 

And then Jimmy starts stroking in a proper rhythmic motion and Phil can’t contain the moan that rolls up from the back of his throat. He tries to match it, tries to move his fist up and down and twist at the top and get a rhythm going so that Jimmy can feel as good as he does but it’s hard. It’s so bloody hard when all the blood in his body is continually rushing downward. 

Jimmy doesn’t moan, but can Phil hear little choked off grunts every time he manages to clear his head enough to give Jimmy’s dick a few concentrated pumps. It’s stop and start, choppy and uncoordinated, but Phil thinks that’s probably ok because that’s exactly what Jimmy’s doing to him and it’s still by far the most pleasure he’s ever experienced. 

He wants to make Jimmy moan though. He wants proof that he’s not alone in this. Later he’ll realize that makes no sense, that Jimmy had been the instigator in this and that he’s clearly as lost in it as Phil is, but still. Phil is still technically a teenager for a few more months and insecurity is quick to read its ugly head and he wants to hear it. He pushes his thumb against the underside of Jimmy’s head, pushes and then slides up into the wetness of the slit. 

It works. It really works. Jimmy groans and somehow that’s the hottest thing to Phil so far. By far. He feels his own balls draw up tight and his stomach clench and his heels grind down into the carpet. He’s going to come soon and he’s equally as disappointed by that as he is desperate for it. 

Then, suddenly, seemingly without any warning whatsoever there are footsteps on the stairs, loud and fast like whoever it is is barreling down them at top speed. He and Jimmy barely have enough time to wrench their hands out of each other’s trousers before one of Phil’s housemates is bursting into the room.

“What are you lot doing?” he asks suspiciously, looking from the telly to their no doubt flushed and guilt-ridden faces. “Are you watching porn or summat?”

Phil’s pulled his knees up to his chest to hide the evidence. Jimmy’s crossed one leg over the over. Phil’s heart is in his throat, pounding painfully out of sheer, unadulterated terror.

“No,” he croaks, trying to sound annoyed and not backed into a corner like he feels. “The fuck would you think that?”

“I thought I heard… something.”

“Films can have sex in them mate, or do you still watch nothing but Teletubbies in your spare time?”

Phil’s housemate flips him off but he’s chuckling. “Alright then, carry on lads,” he says, heading off in the direction of the kitchen.

Phil drops his head back against the sofa when they’re alone again, taking a deep breath to try to force his breathing to even out, trying to convince his sympathetic nervous system that death and destruction are no longer imminent. 

Jimmy stands up. “I have to go.”

“What?” Phil chokes. “No you don’t.” Surely Jimmy’s not going to do this again. He can’t. 

“I can’t deal with this.”

Anger spikes in Phil’s chest. “Are you serious?”

Jimmy’s already halfway out the door. 

-

Phil’s laid out flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling, his cheeks streaked with tears. Fuck Jimmy. Fuck him.

He’d like to. He’d like to fuck Jimmy very much. That’s the fucking problem. He wants Jimmy more than he wants water to drink or air to breathe and he’d thought they were finally allowing themselves to have each other.

But Jimmy had left. Phil had still been hard as he watched Jimmy walk away from him. 

He’s been lying in bed for hours, wondering if the whole thing was just a wonderful, horrible nightmare.

It had felt right. Phil’s had this thing brewing inside him so long, and always it has felt dirty and shameful and wrong.

But Jimmy doesn’t feel like that. Jimmy feels right. Jimmy feels like a puzzle piece finally slotting into place after a lifetime of being hidden under the sofa. Jimmy is a revelation.

So to see him walk away like it’s still wrong hurts like nothing Phil’s ever felt before. It’s hurts so much it overrides every other emotion burning in his chest and he knows he needs an answer. He needs to know where they stand, even if that means losing his puzzle piece forever. He can’t live like this a moment longer.

-

Jimmy answers the door with a bewildered expression, no doubt scared by the pounding knock until he sees Phil’s face.

“I’m coming in,” Phil says. 

Jimmy steps back and doesn’t argue. Phil waits for him to close the door before pushing him back against it and pressing his mouth to Jimmy’s. It’s not what he’d been planning but now that he’s here it’s all he can think about.

Jimmy doesn’t resist. He grips the back of Phil’s neck and pulls him in closer, breathes heavy against Phil’s face and opens his mouth to Phil’s.

This isn’t why Phil came. He came to talk, he came to work out what their future together looks like, if they even had one at all. But it all disappears the moment Jimmy kisses him like that. Kissing like this doesn’t happen between people who don’t want each other.

Phil has Jimmy pinned against the door, pushing his whole body into him with no restraint. He may be wearing jeans now but Jimmy’s not, Jimmy’s still wearing sweatpants and Phil’s glad. He pushes his hand past the elastic of the waistband and revels in the noise Jimmy makes.

“Do you— is this what you want?” Phil asks.

“Fuck yes. Yes, Phil. I want you.”

They keep kissing. Phil keeps stroking. Eventually Jimmy manages to get Phil’s belt unbuckled and jeans unzipped and they stumble backwards until they collapse on the bed together a tangle of limbs and lips. 

For once in his life, Phil doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t let the fear burning in his chest stop him from pushing Jimmy back against the mattress, yanking his trousers down and wrapping his mouth around Jimmy’s cock.

It’s a completely foreign feeling, a completely foreign taste. He’s scared shitless but he’s also so turned on he could be sick. Jimmy slides a hand into Phil’s hair and whimpers and it’s exactly what Phil needs to be reminded that Jimmy probably doesn’t know what he’s doing any more than Phil does. 

He pulls off and looks up at Jimmy, who’s already looking down. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” Phil murmurs, but Jimmy’s wide eyes give him the confidence to stick his tongue out and press it against the underside of Jimmy’s cockhead.

Jimmy tenses. “Fuck, Phil. Do that. More of that. Suck it. Please.”

Phil’s stomach flips and he does as Jimmy had suggested, wrapping his lips around just the head and sucking. More noises escape Jimmy’s lips and his head falls back against his pillow. 

“Don’t stop Phil, please. Don’t—” he grunts as Phil takes him a little deeper. “Don’t stop don’t stop.”

He’s not going to stop. He thinks he’s starting to get the hang of it now. He can’t go down nearly as far as anything he’s seen in the porn he’s watched and objectively he feels like he must look pretty unattractive right now, but Jimmy is gripping his hair so tight and whimpering and moaning softly and Phil’s own dick is hard as a rock and straining against the metal of his unzipped fly so it can’t be that bad. 

It fact he’s so hard that he can’t resist pushing his hips forward and grinding against the mattress as he sucks. There’s too much metal and it hurts so he reaches down and pulls his jeans clumsily down his hips until the only thing between his leaking dick and the bed is his pants.

The electric shocks of pleasure that shoot down his legs and up into his guts embolden him. He pulls his mouth off of Jimmy’s cock with a pop and takes a moment just to look at it. He wants to see it properly.

The tip is red and shiny with spit, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the head almost fully. Phil holds the shaft at the base, keeping it in place to drag the tip of his tongue through the slit. It’s sharp and bitter tasting there, not an objectively nice taste but the way it makes Jimmy shudder assures him that it’s going to become one of Phil’s favourite tastes. 

“Jesus Christ, Phil.”

Phil smiles, sinking back down and taking him a little deeper than before. He breathes out purposefully through his nose and tries to calm the urge to gag. He’s grinding against the bed in a rhythm now and it feels so good he can’t help moaning all around Jimmy’s cock.

“Oh fuck. Oh fuck. I’m gonna— oh fuck Phil. How are you so—” He groans low and loud as Phil forces himself down and feels Jimmy in his throat.

He can’t keep that up, choking a little and making an awful noise and pulling back up but it seems enough to have rendered Jimmy temporarily unable to speak even in euphoric babbles. 

He pulls off fully just for a second, just to say, “Will you be cross if I come on your sheets?”

“Wha— why would you? I’m the one getting blown right now,” Jimmy says, not releasing his grip on Phil’s hair.

“I’m getting off on it,” Phil admits, and he’s not ashamed. “Your cock feels so good in my mouth.” He’s not ashamed but he is a little surprised. He’d never imagined himself capable of dirty talk that wasn’t incredibly awkward. 

“Jesus,” Jimmy breathes. “I won’t be cross, but you have to let me return the favour later.”

Phil is almost overcome with emotion in that moment, a completely inappropriate emotion for sex. He genuinely thinks he’d cry if Jimmy’s cock wasn’t pressing hot and wet against his cheek, if he wasn’t a few good humps away from blowing his load all over the bed and himself. 

“I really want that,” he says, tilting his head and kissing the shaft. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

“I have too. Ever since we first met.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Phil asks. “Did you not know I felt the same way?”

Jimmy chuckles. “I want to have this conversation, I really do. But right now I also really really want to come in your mouth.”

Phil’s stomach swoops again and his cock twitches and he realizes yeah, that’s exactly what he wants too.

“Can I?” Jimmy asks.

“Yeah.” He takes Jimmy into his mouth again and his sucks become sloppy and chaotic as he grinds his dick mercilessly into the mattress.

“Yeah,” Jimmy says breathily. “Yeah yeah yeah, fuck. Your mouth is so good, oh my god, Phil.”

Phil groans as his orgasm hits more suddenly than he’d been expecting. His boxers are flooded with warmth and wet as his cock pumps a frankly obscene amount of come into them. He sucks Jimmy through it all, the taste of him making this all the more hot, all the more dirty. 

And then, barely before Phil’s done coming himself, Jimmy’s thighs are tensing and the taste in Phil’s mouth is intensified, his tongue coated with it. He can feel Jimmy’s dick pulsing between his lips, Jimmy’s moans pitched up and his fist grasped so tight in Phil’s hair that his scalp prickles with pain. 

When his grip loosens and his body finally relaxes, Phil pulls off and swallows and rolls over onto his back.

“Are you ok?” Jimmy asks instantly. 

Phil thinks he’s in love. 

“I’ve never been better.”

“That was amazing, Phil.”

Phil is a sticky mess and it feels well and truly disgusting, but he can’t argue. That was definitely amazing. So amazing he’s almost instantly gripped by the fear that he’s going to lose it.

“Are you going to disappear again?” he asks quietly.

Jimmy is quiet a long time before he says, “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I know.”

Phil sits up then and twists around so he can look at Jimmy’s face. “You want me,” he says. It’s not a question. 

Jimmy’s still laid out flat on his bed, his cock softening low on his stomach. “I want you.”

“And I want you.”

Jimmy smiles, reaching up and pushing his sweat-curling fringe out of his eyes, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Isn’t that enough?” Phil asks.

“I… I don’t know, Phil. I don’t know if I’m ready to be, like, you know…”

Phil raises his eyebrows in question.

“Gay.”

“Oh,” Phil says.

“Yeah.”

“You do realize you just came in my mouth.”

Jimmy props himself up on his elbows. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“And you said you wanted to return the favour.”

“I do. I’m going to. Today.”

“And then what?” Phil asks. “We have one day together and then we go back to being just friends?”

Jimmy’s eyes are set on him with such an intensity it’s dizzying. “We were never just friends.”

Phil’s throat is starting to tighten. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers.

“You won’t. I…” Jimmy sits up then, pulls his sweatpants back up over his dick and reaches out for Phil. “C’mere, please.”

“I’m gross,” Phil croaks. Technically he’s referring to the cold coating of jizz in his underwear, but maybe he means more than that. Maybe he’s feeling wrong now, even when he knows he’s not wrong.

It’s like Jimmy knows exactly what he means. “You are not.” He grips Phil’s arm and pulls. 

Phil lets himself be pulled into Jimmy’s arms and lays his head against his chest, because it’s what he wants even if the pain of knowing he may never have it again clenches in his gut. “I want you,” he says pathetically. “I wanted you before I even knew your name.”

“I’ve never done this before,” Jimmy whispers.

“Neither have I. But I want to try.”

“I do too, Phil. I do. I’m just… I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”

Phil sniffles. “I am too.”

“I don’t know what any of this means.”

It’s Phil’s turn to know exactly what Jimmy means, even if his words are ambiguous. “I don’t either. I don’t think it matters.”

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Jimmy whispers.

“To be with me?” Phil’s heart is breaking, but Jimmy shakes his head.

“To tell anyone.”

Phil barks out a laugh. “Is that it? I’m not ready for that either, Jim. Not even close.”

“You’re not?”

Phil shakes his head. “I’m as new to this as you are.”

“So. We’ll keep it a secret.”

Phil reaches up and hooks his hand round the back of Jimmy’s neck, pulling his face down and kissing him. Softer this time, sweeter. “We’ll keep it just for us.”

They kiss for a long time, learning the shape of each other’s mouths and the taste of each other’s tongues, lying beside each other on Jimmy’s tiny university mattress. 

Jimmy pulls away just when Phil think his lips might actually fall off. “I might fuck up sometimes. I’m kind of an idiot.”

“Yeah,” Phil chuckles. “I know.”

“But we’re gonna try.”

Phil smiles, leans in and kisses the tip of his nose. “We’re gonna try.”


End file.
